


begging angels for a sin

by winteryknights (BlackcatNamedlucky)



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: 1920s, Brief mention of period typical homophobia, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, Jazz Age, M/M, Pre-Canon, Romantic Fluff, Slow Dancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:33:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27458797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackcatNamedlucky/pseuds/winteryknights
Summary: “Seems we have time for one more song,” he says, chancing a look at the band, now talking with a young woman in a tailcoat, then at the empty tumbler on the table. “And one more drink,” he adds, an afterthought, then stands again and circles the table until he’s behind Nicholas’ chair. He leans over slightly, retrieving his jacket from the back of the chair and pressing a feather-light kiss to the top of Nicholas’ head before he’s gone again.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 12
Kudos: 106





	begging angels for a sin

The air in the club is hazy with smoke, curling around Nicholas’ fingers when he reaches for his drink, and he knows he won’t be able to get the smell out of his hair for days afterward, but it’s worth it to see Joseph like this. There’s a smile on his face that would put the sun to shame as he swings around the room in sweeping circles with a partner he’d effortlessly charmed, his suit jacket abandoned over the back of Nicholas’ chair. The band is playing a bright melody, full of brassy beats that trip in such a way that Nicholas can’t quite tell when one song ends and another begins.

He would never claim to be even half the poet that the man who holds his heart is, has never been able to filigree his emotions into the intricate words that his love so naturally effuses, but if he could, he would fill a thousand pages with the love that’s swelling in his ribcage in this moment, a thousand more with worship just of the lithe arcs of his lover’s body as he dances. Nevertheless, he lets the praises build on his tongue as he tracks Joseph’s movement through the room, blunt things that he knows will have no less of an impact on his lover than if they were a lace-delicate ode to him.

The occasional admirer stops by the table he’s sat at, tucked away in a back corner of the club, asks him to go with them, for a drink, a dance, a fuck. An easy no, every time, he turns them away with a smile, a shake of his head.

He knows Joseph wouldn’t mind, not the dancing, neither of them do. After so long together it would only serve to expose shaky foundations, but he doesn’t quite have the same ease with others that Joseph does. Especially not for this. Andrea had joked once, when they’d all gone out to one of the clubs where he and Joseph couldn’t dance together lest they risk having to break someone out of the morgue, that Nicholas had two left feet until Joseph came along and turned one the right way ‘round.

It’s not entirely untrue, he knows himself well enough to admit that. It is simply easier, to be led by the man he’s spent centuries following. They fall in step with each other as the moon with the tide, like it is what the heavens had always intended to happen. Joseph indulges this romanticism, replies that it must be so, that they have moved as one since their first death and will continue to until their last. Perfectly in sync with each other until the end.

Eventually, the music fades out, the band halfway between taking a break and preparing for their next set, and Joseph bids his companion goodbye before making his way back to Nicholas. His smile has softened into a private one, one only ever shone on his heart, and when he comes close enough he leans in to press a gentle kiss to Nicholas’ lips. He smells heady, like clean sweat and tobacco smoke mixed with the sweet-spicy cologne he’s taken a liking to this decade. It leaves Nicholas dizzy, for a moment, in the best way, and he grins up at Joseph when he pulls away.

“Enjoying the show?” his lover asks, snagging Nicholas’ glass as he collapses into the chair opposite his.

“Always do,” Nicholas responds, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of his lips as he admires the way Joseph’s Adam’s apple bobs when he takes a drink.

Admires everything about the vision in front of him, really, the flush that sits high on his cheeks, the eyes that seem to have been crafted from the beauty of the night sky itself, dark and glittering. He thinks—knows—that there is nothing in this world he wouldn’t give up to keep this man by his side for the rest of his many, many days. Warmth floods his heart with the knowledge that it is the same for the man across from him.

Joseph sets down the drink and pulls his watch from the pocket of his waistcoat, the silver glinting in the dull light of the club, and checks it briefly before tucking it away again and looking up.

“Seems we have time for one more song,” he says, chancing a look at the band, now talking with a young woman in a tailcoat, then at the empty tumbler on the table. “And one more drink,” he adds, an afterthought, then stands again and circles the table until he’s behind Nicholas’ chair. He leans over slightly, retrieving his jacket from the back of the chair and pressing a feather-light kiss to the top of Nicholas’ head before he’s gone again.

It’s only a few minutes before he returns, two drinks in hand. He sits and hands one off to Nicholas, extending his own in a lazy salute. “To the night,” he says, and Nicholas murmurs an echo, clinking their glasses together before they drink. The watered-down whiskey leaves a dull bite in its path, not as satisfying a burn as what they could have had had they stayed in for the night but made up for tenfold by the embers alight in Joseph’s eyes as he watches Nicholas.

The band starts up again, slower than what they’d been playing before. Combined with the haze of the air and the late hour, it makes everything feel liquid, ethereal. Joseph stands, then, and extends his right hand to Nicholas, left arm tucked behind his back in a teasing half-bow.

“A dance, _hayati_?”

“For you, a thousand, _cuore mio_ ,” Nicholas responds, taking Joseph’s hand in his own and standing. They make their way to the dance floor just as the woman starts to sing, her voice like crystallized honey, the words just as sweet. 

They slot together perfectly, Nicholas settling his right hand at Joseph’s mid-back, and Joseph’s left curling around to rest on Nicholas’ shoulder, their clasped hands tucked close to their chests. They take to the rhythm seamlessly, stepping in time with the music and the other couples, each a steady weight for the other. After the few moments it takes to establish their cadence, Joseph lets his head drop to Nicholas’ shoulder, nestling into the slope of his neck. 

“I love you,” Nicholas whispers into his hair, and imagines he can feel the kiss Joseph presses to his lapel in return.

The rest of the song passes languidly, rich and slow as molasses, and seems to time itself to the heartbeat they share.

**Author's Note:**

> so I was sitting there, alone and lonely in my dorm room, listening to Miles Davis' _Nefertiti_ , and thinking. what if Joe and Nicky used to go dancing at jazz clubs. so I wrote it! don't worry about the chronological inaccuracy between the Jazz Age and when Miles Davis was active, inspiration is a fickle thing.  
> anyways, I hope you enjoyed! :) if you want to chat, you can find me on tumblr at [the-sneering-menagerie](https://the-sneering-menagerie.tumblr.com), or you can find my writing blog where I take requests at [redking-scripting](https://redking-scripting.tumblr.com)  
> as always, comments and kudos make my day, and thanks for reading!


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